I come not to praise, but to bury.

There's a thin line I walk, between being supportive and wanting to be the best.

I'm intensely competitive. I always have been, whether in music or in sports or in life. I want to be the best, or I'll be nothing. As I've matured, it's gotten easier, little by little, to moderate this driving urge, to take "the best" and turn it into "very good," to not let it get in between me and friendships, me and feminism, me and the right side of the line.

Every once in a while, though, it gets the better of me. Instead of being happy for someone, I get jealous. I let that little voice - the voice informed by experience and chaos - tell me that if she's going to get that, then I'm never going to. I wasn't first, so I'm not good enough. It's poison in my ears, and it's counterproductive.

I used to be one of those people who wanted to be the only. I wanted to be the only woman writing for a major site. I wanted to be the only woman "scouting" at Frisco games. I was incredibly lonely, and yet, educated by that societal pressure that tells women that there isn't enough room for them, I wanted to be alone. I've tried to grow up, tried to be a good person, tried to be supportive and helpful and mentoring, tried to turn my anger outward instead of inward, but sometimes...sometimes I'm just not strong enough. Sometimes I can't be happy when someone gets an opportunity I wanted, even if it means that another woman is carving out space for themselves in such a difficult landscape.

I'm not writing this for your pity, or your scorn. I'm writing this because I sat down to work on an important piece that is due sooner than I'd like, but couldn't, because my heart was sick and sad and jealous.

It's a journey, I know. It's not the most difficult journey, and I've got plenty to be happy with, but that's the curse of it. Right now, I'm not happy because I know I'm not the best, and I don't know if I will be happy because I won't ever be the best, but right now is not the future.

Some day, I'll be good enough for me, maybe. Some day, I'll be at peace with other's accomplishments. Today, though, I'm not good enough.